As the destruction of Tripura drew near, Shiva—the moon-crested, matted-haired Lord—was deeply moved. He spoke to Nandi, his devoted attendant, saying, “That Maya, though faithful, will perish today.” At Shiva’s command, Nandi, swift and powerful as the wind of thought, sped toward Tripura and entered the city. Within Tripura, Nandi found Maya and addressed him urgently: “A terrible destruction is about to befall Tripura, O Maya. Leave this house at once, I implore you.” Hearing these words, Maya, steadfast devotee of Maheshvara, departed from Tripura by the main gate, heeding Nandi’s warning. Then, like a leaf consumed in a flame, the three cities were set ablaze. Fire, the moon, and Narayana, as if divided into three, joined in this destruction. The cities, radiant with the brilliance of Shiva’s arrow, were consumed, just as lineages are destroyed from above by the fault of a wicked son. Tripura’s cities, grand as Meru and Kailasa, resembling the peaks of Mandara, adorned with doors and windows and splendid with offerings, were magnificent. They boasted beautiful palaces, towering mansions, rain-filled reservoirs, and renowned halls for viewing. The houses, belonging to the Danavas, were decorated with banners and flags of gold and silver. Yet, thousands of these homes were engulfed by blazing fire. Within the lovely palaces, forests, groves, upper chambers, and open spaces, many others were present. The wives of the Danava lords, embraced by their beloveds and delighting together, were consumed by fire, even as they clung to their loved ones. One woman, unable to escape, abandoned her beloved and, before his eyes, perished in the mouth of the fire. A lotus-eyed woman, her eyes filled with tears and hands joined in supplication, cried out to the fire, “O Fire, I am the wife of another, O tormentor of foes. Witness of righteousness for the three worlds, you should not touch me here. I have lain with another, O god, and with Shiva’s radiance. Go elsewhere, leaving this house and my beloved to me.” Another Danava woman, holding her young son, stood near the fire and pleaded, “This boy, O Fire, is my son, born of sorrow. You should not take him, O beloved of Shanmukha, my dear one.” Some Danava women, abandoning their beloveds and afflicted, plunged into the ocean’s waters, their ornaments tinkling as they fell. Crying out “Father, son!” and “Mother!” in distress, the women of Tripura wailed, trembling in the flames. The fire in Tripura burned the lotus-like faces of the women, just as fire on a mountain burns lotuses and water creatures. And just as frost burns lotuses in a pond with its cold, so too did the fire scorch their faces and eyes. When the rain of fiery arrows fell upon those delicate women, the mingled cries of their girdles and anklets, as they wailed, became overwhelming. Mansions with half-burnt crescent-shaped domes and altars, shattered palaces with gateways, and burning houses collapsed as if swept away by a flood, seeking protection. As burning houses fell and flames swallowed them, the ocean’s water became heated, just as a wealthy family is ruined by the faults of a wicked son. The ocean’s water, boiled by the heat of burning houses, surged violently, terrifying its fishes, crocodiles, and great sea-monsters. Then, the city of Tripura, with its grand gateways and mountain-like ramparts, collapsed together with its mansions, crashing into the ocean with a tremendous sound. The city, with its thousand-peaked palaces, stood like a lord of mountains, but only the name “Tripura” remained, consumed by fire as an offering to destruction. As the city burned, the whole world—along with the underworld and heavens—was scorched, plunged into distress and submerged in water where Maya’s great palace stood. Hearing the words of Shiva, Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt, cursed Maya’s house, declaring, “The house of Maya shall always be unfit for dwelling, without foundation, and surrounded by fear, just like fire. Wherever there is defeat for any land, people will see the ruins of Tripura there; and even today, Maya’s house remains free from disease.” The sages then asked, “O Blessed One, by which house did Maya escape? Tell us, O son of Camasa, the fate of Maya.” It was revealed that wherever Maya’s abode is seen, it is surely his, but as an enemy of the gods, Maya’s mind became troubled. He departed from that world and built another for his own protection. Yet even there, the gods, best among immortals, were present. Unable to remain, Maya went to a single, excellent city. Shiva, compassionate, built a house and gave it to Maya, who sought a dwelling. Indra, the thousand-eyed, ceased his hostility and worshipped Shiva, and as the Lord of beings was worshipped, all praised him. The gods rejoiced, seeing Ganesha, chief of the hosts, being worshipped by gods and their attendants. They laughed and departed, their hands joined in delight. Indra, saluting the Grandsire and Mahesha, took up his bow, cleaned it, mounted his chariot, and hurled the burning city into the ocean, where it became the abode of the makaras. It is said that whoever recites this Rudra-victory hymn, which brings triumph, the Bull-bannered Lord grants victory in their undertakings. If recited during rites for ancestors, one’s merit becomes endless, bestowing the fruit of all sacrifices. This hymn is auspicious, holy, and a great rite for sons; hearing and reciting it, one attains the world of Rudra. The sages then asked Suta, “How does King Pururavas, month after month on the new moon, ascend to heaven? How does he offer oblations to the ancestors? We wish to hear the power of that wise one.